


Surprise

by OrilliaOrange



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, Unrequited Love, sex in the great outdoors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4197228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/pseuds/OrilliaOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra waits alone on a hill, expecting Varric and hoping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffee_maker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_maker/gifts).



Cassandra paces across the small clearing, on top of a hill that overlooks Crestwood; has been waiting for fifteen minutes. She’s early, and stuck between fretting and cautiously hoping that the reason Varric summoned her here will be because he-

Because she-

It is too much to even try and think the words. As though admitting it to herself will make it real. If it’s real then it’s subject to the rules of reality. And as Cassandra well knows, reality is harsh and without pity. At the moment, the attraction between herself and Varric lives in that strange in between place- not quite real, not quite imaginary. It is safe enough, so long as no one does anything.

She is safe enough so long as no one does anything. You cannot be hurt by a dream.

It is far more likely that Varric asked her to meet him here because he-

Cassandra’s imagination fails her. Perhaps the new chapter of Swords and Shields? Or maybe he wants to tell her that he knows. That he’s noticed the way her eyes follow him, how she’s always near him in battle. That their teasing banter makes her smile, causes her heart to soar. Maybe he wants to tell her that he feels the same way. That his day is always better for her presence, that his heart is-

Cassandra stops herself there.

Varric’s heart is engaged, has always belonged to Bianca Davri.

Realization strikes suddenly, sharp and painful like a fist to the gut.

It all makes sense- why else would he call her to this secluded place if not to afford her some privacy when he tells her that he only feels friendship for her?

His heart is not for her. Not for a woman who kidnapped him, who threatened him. A woman who towers over him, a woman who is human. Cassandra has never felt self conscious about her body, about her race, except for when Varric stands close to her. Then, she feels every extra inch of her height, feels slender as an elf in comparison to his sturdy body.

Cassandra’s heart sinks into her stomach.

Something rustles behind her, on the path leading to the crest of the hill. Cassandra spins on her heel, annoyance written across her face. How dare Varric ask her to this place, and then show up late?

A nug shuffle-hops into the underbrush.

Cassandra’s face burns with embarrassment. Letting out a rueful laugh, she settles down on a fallen tree. The heaviness of her heart hasn’t eased. Pressing the heel of her palm against her breastbone, Cassandra kneads at the spot over her heart.

The view from the hilltop is beautiful. The sun has begun to set, tinting all the clouds in shades of the most fantastic oranges and pinks. Everything is bathed in rosy light, from the highest mountaintop to the rippling waters of the lake. The view is perfect, the entire landscape laid out before her like a painting.

Varric could not have chosen a better place. It is almost romantic.

Footsteps crunch along the path.

Cassandra’s aching, heavy heart seems to have stopped beating in favour of a vice-like squeeze.

“Seeker. Fancy meeting you here,” Varric says. He stands behind her for a few moments, before joining her on the fallen log.

They sit, his right side pressed against her left. Varric’s body is warm next to hers. He’s always warm, like the forge where she sleeps.

Cassandra hopes he can’t feel the way she’s trembling. Hell, she wishes she hadn’t noticed. It’s humiliating, and it only makes things worse. Her heartbeat rattles her entire body, and there’s not enough room for her to move away from Varric. Besides that, she doesn’t want to.

The silence stretches out between them, which is a curious thing. Cassandra has never known Varric to stay quiet when he can make a witty remark, and certainly their current situation might merit a quip. Sitting down, the height difference between them isn’t as pronounced, and when Cassandra turns her head she finds herself looking right into Varric’s eyes.

He blushes, just a faint stain of colour across his nose and cheekbones, beneath the freckles.

Varric has freckles, and it just about kills her. They’re there, unevenly scattered across his face, and Cassandra wants to kiss each and every one.

Maker’s ass.

She’s staring at him, Varric is staring at her. They’re both red (Cassandra can feel the warmth that burns her cheeks). It’s the weirdest damn thing. Varric’s the first to break eye contact. Focused instead on the task of taking off his gloves, Varric gives off the impression of a nervous man faking nonchalance, and failing. He’s just as anxious as she is, and for the first time, Cassandra dares to hope.

“Seeker, I- fuck,” Varric rakes a hand through his hair, mussing his ponytail irreversibly.

“Cassandra.”

He says her name with such heartfelt fervour, that for a moment Cassandra thinks he’s praying.

She meets his eyes, those eyes that always look tired even when he laughs, and everything blurs. She has not been so close to tears in so long, and now she feels their telltale sting.

Varric looks at her with all the love, hope, and despair she herself has felt, and it nearly breaks her heart.

“Varric,” Cassandra says. Her voice wavers, and all in all she’s proud that she hasn’t started crying.

“You- I…” Varric breathes in, exhales. Picks up her hand instead, and presses a kiss to her gloved palm.

Cassandra has never loathed a piece of leather so violently. She nearly rips her hand from his, tearing off her gloves and flinging them away.

The first brush of his skin against hers is exquisite. Cassandra finds that she adores Varric’s hands more than she ever dreamed. His hands are warm, callused, and a little sweaty. They’re the most perfect thing she’s ever touched. She presses her lips against Varric’s knuckles, holding his hand close. His fingers unfurl gently, the soft touch of his fingertips against her face is so quietly reverent, that Cassandra’s heart shatters.

He touches her the way Most Holy might touch a sacred relic. Something beautiful, irreplaceable. Varric touches her as though he thinks she’ll be torn away from him in a second.

“Do you- Varric for the love of the Maker, tell me,” Cassandra says. “You-”

“I do,” Varric laughs, the sound weightless and surprised. “More than anything.”

“I do as well,” Cassandra admits. It costs her, just to say that much. The real words stick in her throat. They’re too new, too honest.

It’s quiet on the hilltop. Birds chirp to one another as the sun sets, the hum of insects is all around them. It is a perfect night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Varric work out some frustrations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex ensues, if that's not your thing then avoid this chapter. Thank you all for reading!

Days later. Days which feel like weeks and Cassandra cannot sleep. Blood sings in her veins, her heart twists and yearns for the man sleeping a few feet away. They may as well be miles apart. Does Varric feel this way, or is she alone? She can’t wish this awful restlessness on anyone, but it would be nice to know someone else was suffering with her.

 

Maker, and she’d thought that the worst pain had been pining for him and believing it was fruitless.

 

Varric is only a few feet away. They’re separated by one tent, Dorian, and assorted inquisition agents.

 

On the other bedroll, the Inquisitor snuffles and snores. Cassandra does not regret her choice to stay by the Inquisitor’s side- he has not been to war. Left to his own devices, he’d likely sleep through a prospective attack. It also hadn’t hurt that Varric always slept in the tent furthest from them. Before, Cassandra viewed that distance as a blessing. The further she and her wretched heart could be from Varric, the better. Now, she wonders if the ache would be more acute if there were only a few inches separating them.

 

Outside the tent, Cassandra can hear the agents on watch chatter as they walk their rounds. They pass by, shadows and whispers fading into the darkness. Cassandra sits up, shoves her boots on her feet while keeping one eye on the Inquisitor. Surely he will be fine if she leaves for a few minutes. Just for a short walk. The Inquisition’s agents are more than capable, and she’s certain Leliana always sneaks at least one of her own operatives in amongst them. It will be fine.

 

Slipping through the tent flaps, Cassandra nods at the soldiers on watch, and does not allow herself to slow down when her long steps take her past Varric’s tent. She wants to linger, to wake him and hear his voice. Feel his touch.

 

Suddenly her mind supplies all the fevered kisses they’ve snatched in quiet moments. Varric’s hands on her waist, her fingers snarled in his hair. Their last encounter, hidden in the trees when Varric had yanked her close, every inch of him pressed up against her while his mouth bit and kissed along her chest and his hands had roved over her.

 

Near the edge of camp, Cassandra falters and turns on her heel. Perhaps she will wake Varric. She’s willing to risk Dorian discovering them. It will be the end of their privacy, but at the moment it’s a sacrifice she doesn’t regret.

 

A dark shadow detaches itself from the middle tent, and slinks over to the tent where the Inquisitor lies sleeping.

 

Fury beats in Cassandra’s heart as she crosses the distance between herself and the would-be assassin in seconds. She hasn’t got her sword, only a boot knife but it’s more than she needs. She has killed with less.

 

Firelight shines across familiar red-gold hair, glints off the gold embroidery of a red tunic Cassandra knows well.

 

“Varric!” Cassandra whispers, boot knife in hand should she be mistaken.

 

She’s not. She would know him anywhere, in any form.

 

Better safe than sorry, though.

 

“Seeker?”

 

Varric stares. She stares. The moment for a smartass remark arrives and departs.

 

“What were you doing, skulking about in the middle of the night?” she asks, well aware that she too was skulking.

 

“On my way to murder the Inquisitor, what about you?” Varric retorts.

 

Perhaps it is always time for a smartass comment.

 

“Checking for assassins,” Cassandra says.

 

“Well, you’ve caught me,” Varric says, raising his hands. “What’re you going to do with me?”

 

There are a lot of things she could say to that. Teasing, saucy things learned from novels, overheard from bolder comrades. Things that are not quite her. Not yet. That is the oddity of a relationship with Varric. She yearns to be lighter, flippant. Feels too serious, instead.

 

“Well since I can’t throw you in a cell,” Cassandra says. “I suppose I must keep an eye on you.”

 

Varric laughs, quiet but the sound warms her to the bone.

 

Rustling and muttering from inside the tent startles them both. Varric places one finger over his lips, and points towards the edge of camp. He melts into the shadows, while Cassandra tries to keep from running to the meeting point.

 

They nearly collide, Varric appearing out of nowhere right in her path. It has to be intentional, especially since he catches her when she stumbles. His arms are warm around her waist. Relaxing into his hold, Cassandra wraps her arms around his shoulders. They’re locked together in the dim light from the campfire, the world reduced to themselves and flickering firelight.

 

The aching restlessness in Cassandra’s heart eases. She buries her nose in Varric’s hair, inhales and kisses the crown of his head. He in turn mutters something against her chest, and pulls her even closer.

 

They break apart, fingers and hands tangling together as they walk away from the camp and up the well worn paths towards the little clearing on the hill above them.

 

It isn’t as though Cassandra has never snuck out of camp before, but this is different in some ill defined way. They tramp up the hillside, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Around them the night is calm and just the right side of warm. Above, the moon is nearly full and the stars are bright and scattered across the sky. Cassandra’s reminded of the spray of freckles across Varric’s nose.

 

Stooping, Cassandra brushes her lips against Varric’s nose, a light little kiss that makes him smile. He is handsome in the moonlight. Light and shadow and that roguishness peculiar to Varric, and it is easy to press their lips together into a chaste kiss that doesn’t stay that way.

 

Varric’s mouth is warm and soft, his prickly stubble rubs her chin and it is a perfect kiss. Cassandra’s heartbeat pounds in her ears, and it is suddenly too hot for a mild summer evening. Her eyes open slowly, as she stands up straight. Varric’s hands are around her waist again, and the look on his face sears her right to the bone.

 

Has any man ever looked at her with that much hunger? That much naked want?

 

Varric exhales, his hands have snuck up beneath her shirt and his thumbs stroke her hipbones, dip below the waist of her breeches. It is a soft touch, teasing. Excruciating. Cassandra wants to feel his touch everywhere. For a wild moment, she contemplates stripping down, letting Varric’s hands and mouth roam across her body in the middle of the path where anyone could see. Anything to keep him touching her.

 

Unbidden, Cassandra’s hands sneak beneath the open collar of Varric’s tunic. His body is warm, and strong, and she wants to tear his tunic off. Bare him to the open sky and her own touch.

 

“Cassandra,” Varric says. It’s very close to a growl, and the surge of arousal it brings her is obscene.

 

She kisses the pulsing vein in his neck, and this time he does growl. A nip at the soft skin where jaw and neck join and his fingers dig into her waist. Varric’s hands skate down to her ass, and Cassandra can’t help but arch into his touch. She’s pressed against him, her breasts in his face, one leg wrapped around Varric’s so that she can get just that little bit closer. It’s still not close enough. Her fingers dig into Varric’s back, he frees one hand to open the buttons of her shirt just enough for him to jerk her breastband down, and-

 

Maker.

 

Varric’s lips gentle against her breasts, as she writhes and urges him ever closer. His stubble scratches over her sensitive skin, makes her shudder. Cassandra’s hands clench at the back of his head, hair caught between her fingers.

 

Agonizing moments pass, lust dragging them out long and sweet.

 

Below them on the path, an animal crashes through the underbrush and the moment breaks.

 

Varric looks up from her exposed breasts, Cassandra’s hands loosen their grip on his hair.

  
Silence. Cassandra waits to feel embarrassed, waits for Varric to make excuses.

 

Neither happen. Instead, Varric tugs on the front of her shirt and kisses her senseless. Her shirt sags down, is caught on her elbows. She doesn’t care. Varric covers her breasts with his palms, kneads, and plucks at her nipples with his calloused fingers.

 

Their kiss breaks again, as they both take a breath for the first time in what must be hours.

 

“Up to the clearing?” Varric suggests.

 

He smiles, slow and cocky. Behind that, something Cassandra almost wants to shy away from. It’s too much, and exactly what she wants to have, to give.

 

She can see the two paths branching out- one where she says no and goes back to camp, and the other. Where she says yes, takes Varric’s hand, and they go forward. It’s not too late. She has the choice to save her heart a third horrible disaster. One she might not recover from, should it happen.

 

She smiles, kisses Varric’s forehead and walks away from him back to camp. Back to an existence focused around her duties, her obligations.

 

“Seeker?”

 

Varric’s voice interrupts her imaginings.

 

“Lost you for a second there,” he says. His mouth twists in a wry smile.

 

Looking at him, at how quickly ardor is being replaced by guardedness, Cassandra falls over that final edge. It’s already too late, much too late for her heart.

 

Interlocking their fingers, Cassandra brings his knuckles to her mouth to kiss. Varric’s shoulders relax infinitesimally.

 

Their progress up the rest of the hill is slow. Neither can make it more than a few feet without pulling the other close, without a kiss or a grope. They very nearly fuck against a convenient tree, Cassandra’s fingers knotted into Varric’s hair as his fingers stroke her pussy and his mouth works at one of her nipples.

 

The view from the hilltop clearing is magnificent by night. Crestwood unfolds before them, laid out in silver and velvet. Cassandra spares it a glance before her fingers make clumsy work of undoing the laces of Varric’s breeches. His hands fumble at her shirt, pushing it down around her waist. His nails scrape light as a feather over sensitized skin and Cassandra groans against his neck.

 

“Varric,” Cassandra sighs out his name, and then laughs as Varric shudders.

 

He very nearly bowls her over, and Maker they must make a ridiculous sight, half dressed in the moonlight but Cassandra can’t spare a thought to care. There’s a look in Varric’s eyes that promises mischief.

 

“Again,” he murmurs against her mouth, clever fingers undoing the tangle of her shirt. The breast band joins it, a pale scrap of cloth in the purple twilight.  

 

“What again?” Cassandra asks, too busy working the little hooks of Varric’s tunic.

 

Varric’s hand slips down the front of her breeches. She arches into his touch, those thick, clever fingers that stroke and tease her pussy. Her hips grind down into his hand, against his callused palm as Varric’s fingers dip into her.

 

“My name,” Varric says, and Cassandra can feel his voice rumbling in his chest. “Say my name again.”

 

His fingers curl, and Cassandra’s hips jerk.

 

“Maker,” she breathes. A wicked smile crosses her face, and Varric kisses her, with a little laugh.

 

“Seeker, you are an evil woman,” he says. It shouldn’t make her laugh, but she does.

 

“Try harder,” Cassandra challenges, wanton in the moonlight.

 

Varric’s tunic gapes open now, sash lost somewhere along with her own clothes. Ruddy hair trails down beneath the breeches which ride low on his hips now. Cassandra’s fingers trace the exposed skin, her lips follow the path her fingers forge. She’s got Varric flat on his back, though he’s propped up on one arm to watch her progress. Just as she’s about to push his breeches down the rest of the way, Varric’s hand curls around her bicep.

 

“Come up here, Seeker.”

  
He doesn’t have to pull, his gravelly voice sends shivers down Cassandra’s spine and she obeys with trembling limbs. Varric shuffles her pants down further, past her knees till they catch on her boots, and urges her hips forward.

 

“Maker’s ass, Cassandra,” he says in a voice that speaks of worship, of want. Of desire.

 

She can feel his breath, cool against the wetness of her cunt.

 

Varric’s hands on her ass guide her forward. The first touch of his mouth makes her gasp. He kisses her, soft and gentle. It’s almost tentative, until it isn’t. The kiss deepens, wet and obscene, heating her blood to boiling.

 

Cassandra moves against his lips, eager for more.

 

Instead, Varric pushes her hips up, just far enough that he can speak.

 

“My name, Cassandra.”

 

His voice is uneven, ragged.

 

Her legs are already shaking, the tremble of leaves in a strong breeze.

 

There’s a measure of power to this, one that Cassandra savours. She shakes her head, lower lip caught in her teeth just in case her willpower sags.

 

Varric’s tongue flicks against her, his mouth devours. When her hips buck, she can feel him groan, feel the rhythm of his mouth and her hips pick up. He fucks her with his tongue, that clever tongue she’s had reason to curse before. Now, it’s a blessing, a gift, and the only thought in her head is more.

 

“Varric.”

 

She says his name, prays it. Varric’s hands knead her ass, fingers digging in and pulling her closer, his tongue flicking deeper. Every muscle in Cassandra’s body locks tight. Varric’s mouth and hands coax her further, until her whole body shudders and trembles. Until it’s too much, and the tension breaks, sends her crumpling forward bonelessly.

 

Varric’s mouth is slick and wet. His heartbeat rockets against her chest when she kisses him, when Cassandra rests her forehead against his collarbone.

 

The air is cool against their sweat soaked skin, the soft smell of the forest rises up around them- crushed grass, the faint perfume of flowers, and rich soil. It is a perfect night. A night out of a romance, out of a dream. But it is real. Cassandra can feel its reality in the ache of her muscles, her kiss-bruised lips, Varric’s solid body beneath hers.

 

Cassandra’s muscles have gone rubbery, but she still manages to make her way down to Varric’s cock with elegance. His breath hitches in his chest as she kisses the soft skin above his rampant erection. Beneath her palms, Varric’s thighs shake. Settling herself comfortably between his legs, Cassandra looks up to see Varric propped up on one arm, staring down at her with eyes blown big and desperate. Curling one hand around the base of his cock, Cassandra keeps her eyes on his as her tongue darts out to lick the precome that drips down the head. Varric’s eyes roll back in his head.

 

That’s more than enough encouragement for Cassandra. She licks the underside of his cock, mostly just to see Varric catch his lower lip between his teeth as she does so, before sealing her mouth around him. Every muscle in his body flexes as Cassandra begins to move, Varric’s cock slipping in and out of her mouth. Varric trembles, his hips jerk ever so slightly. It’s erotic as hell, to have him at her mercy. To bring him pleasure, to the edge of coming. Varric’s fingers stroke her hair, and Cassandra opens her eyes to find him staring down at her, his gaze feverish. While he watches, Cassandra swallows more of his cock, until her nose brushes his stomach and he’s fully buried in her mouth, down her throat.

 

“Shit, hell. Fuck.”

 

Varric’s head lolls back, and Cassandra can feel wetness pooling in her cunt, can feel it slicking her thighs. She moans around Varric’s cock, jerks when Varric’s fingers find one of her nipples and begin to roll and tease it. The clearing is quiet except for the sound of her sucking his cock, and their harsh breaths.

 

“Seeker. Cassandra.”

 

Varric’s hands pull at her shoulders, until his cock pops free of her mouth.

 

“Come up here,” Varric says, urging her upwards. “Let me...let me fuck you.”

 

Her tits hang in his face, and when he pulls a nipple into his mouth to suck, Cassandra nearly collapses against him.

 

“Say it again, Varric,” Cassandra commands, leaning back just enough that the wet lips of her cunt rub against his cock. Just out of reach, just close enough.

 

“Let me fuck you. Cassandra let me fuck you, Maker’s ass I want you,” Varric says, very close to a growl.

 

His fingers slide down to her hips, stroke her clit.

 

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Seeker. You were wet for me on the path, too. I could’ve had you up against that tree, in the middle of the road, where anyone could’ve come along and seen us,” Varric gasps out.

 

His fingers circle her clit faster, and Cassandra presses herself against him, eyes sliding shut.

 

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you for months,” Varric murmurs against her mouth. “Fantasizing about you. What you look like without that armor, what you’d look like bent over with my cock in your pussy.”

 

Cassandra’s eyes fly open to look down at him. The hand not teasing her cunt caresses her face, and Varric’s grin is more than mischievous

 

“Can’t blame a man for dreaming, Seeker.”

  
“Dwarves don’t dream, Varric,” Cassandra snorts.

 

“I dreamt of you,” Varric replies.

 

His voice is so soft, they both still.

 

“Dreamt of having you, of being able to touch you.”

 

Cassandra arches an eyebrow at him, and Varric laughs.

 

“Not just like this. I wanted to-”

 

He stops, and Cassandra swears he’s blushing.

 

“I wanted you,” his fingers stroke the smooth skin along her sides, trace the divots and scars there. “I want you. I want to kiss you, and Maker knows I want to fuck you senseless. But I want all the rest too.”

 

The frantic eroticism of earlier fades, replaced by something more honest, a little more tender.

 

“I do as well,” Cassandra says, bending forward to kiss him. “All of it.”

 

Pushing herself upright, Cassandra reaches between them to give Varric’s cock a slow stroke.

“Fuck me.”

 

In one fluid movement, Cassandra takes in Varric’s cock, feels the stretch as he fills her.

 

Time slows. There is only the two of them, and where they're joined.

 

Cassandra exhales, moves, and time starts up again. She spreads her knees wider, rolls her hips. Varric's hands clench involuntarily. His face looks taut, and he breathes carefully, like he'll forget how to. Another roll of her hips, and Varric's breath catches.

 

His hands cup her ass, urge her higher then pull her body down tighter against him. Cassandra is limned in moonlight, sheened in sweat she rises above Varric, takes him in further. She’s wet and hot, her fingers brace on his shoulders as her body bows. Their hips grind together, mouths smear against one another as they find and lose their rhythm. Cassandra can’t bring herself to care.

 

The long muscles of her thighs quake, give out beneath her. It's too much to keep rocking her hips upwards; Cassandra's hips buck, thrust down against Varric's.

 

"Seeker," Varric pleads.

 

Varric's arms wrap around her torso, crush her down against his body. His hips snap up. Cassandra buries her face in his neck, sinks her teeth into the crux of his shoulder and throat.

 

“Come. Maker, Cassandra, please,” Varric says, jaw clenched. “I can’t-”

 

Cassandra spills over the edge, every muscle tenses, squeezes. Beneath her Varric groans, holds her closer as her body goes limp all of a piece.

 

“Cass,” Varric murmurs into her hair. His fingers come up to cup her head as she breathes heavily into his shoulder.

 

She can feel the curve of his lips, feel his smile against her ear.

 

Lassitude slicks its way through her body. A cool breeze whispers across her sweaty skin, and Cassandra can’t remember being so happy.

 

“Come back to my tent,” Varric says, hands stroking a long path down her back.

 

“I don’t think Dorian would like that,” Cassandra adjusts herself, creaking muscles objecting.

 

Varric snorts, and Cassandra moves so his hands can grab her ass again.

 

“If I’m not mistaken, Sparkler high-tailed it over to the Inquisitor’s tent the second we left,” Varric says. “Stay the night with me, Seeker.”

 

In the night, it’s easier to say honest things, and Cassandra can hear the way Varric’s voice wavers, feels his hands still.

 

“Mm, your tent is closer,” Cassandra says, knowing she shouldn’t tease and unable to help herself.

 

“A man of convenience,” Varric groans.

 

“You’ve never been convenient, dwarf,” Cassandra says dryly.

 

They are sweaty, sticky, and probably dirty. Cassandra can’t remember feeling more content.

 

Her lips find his, and the kiss they share is sweet, tender. An honest outpouring of the soul. Of her soul, all the emotions building up awkwardly inside her.

 

“Easy, Seeker. I’m an old man,” Varric laughs.

 

“Should I let you get your rest, then?” Cassandra asks. “Perhaps I ought not spend the night.”

 

“Impudence from a Seeker? Isn’t that against your oath of eternal seriousness?” Varric’s hands come to rest on her hips.

 

“You are incorrigible.”

 

“Stay the night, show me the error of my ways,” Varric says.

 

“I may need more than one night for that,” Cassandra replies, kissing him again.

 

Varric grinned, gathering her closer.

 

“Take as many as you need.”

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt sent to me by goodgirl on the bioware forum's Cassandra/Varric thread.


End file.
